A white ship crawls the blue horizon,
Only a speck on the
Distant brine.
A stream of pelicans rides gentle winds,
Fragile links in a chain of time. 

Long swells tumble in muted roar,
Drumming their songs on
Sandy shore.
An old fisherman casts a baited hook,
His wife engrossed in a fluffy book.

Sensing nothing of time and place,
Young lovers lock in
Passionate embrace.
Held and guided by her father's hand,
A young child builds a castle of sand.

The pelicans break to dive and wheel,
The old fisherman shakes his
Empty creel.
The castle crumbles in the muted roar,
Towers and bridges melt to
Sandy shore.
The embrace of passion cools and wanes,
The lovers soaked in a
Driving rain.

 The white speck vanishes; the horizon is bare,
Only the memory knows
Someone is there.

Nothing is unchanged; no one goes free,
All touched by the tide of the
Sibilant sea.


Copyright June 22, 2007
J. Harold Thurmond


Photo Credit - Dale Denham Shaffield